


Soft

by jellyfishline



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Crying, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-20
Updated: 2016-09-20
Packaged: 2018-08-16 05:05:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8088388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jellyfishline/pseuds/jellyfishline
Summary: Late at night after a sleepover, Shouyou wakes to a shocking discovery: Kageyama is crying.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So, I'm pretty uncertain about posting this. Not only is it my first piece for a fandom--which is always pretty nerve-wracking for me--but it's also the most self-indulgent fluff ever. I had a really crappy couple of days and I just really needed to write something comforting and cute, but when I was finished I felt like releasing this into the wild, so. Please be gentle and forgive the terrible title!

There’s a sound.

A soft, slippery sound. Maybe it’s not really a _sound_ at all—just wind in the trees, or the rustle of sheets. Nothing worth waking up over.

Shouyou rolls over, pushing his face more firmly into his pillow. Hmm, what had he been dreaming about… something about yakiniku…?

…wait. There it is again. That _sound_.

Shouyou rolls onto his side this time. The green electric numbers of his clock leave imprints on his eyes. 3:34 AM. Much, much too early. But if he doesn’t figure out where that sound is coming from and make it _stop_ , he’s never going back to sleep. Seriously. One time the motion sensor on his neighbor’s porch light broke and it kept turning on every time the wind blew and he barely got any sleep for a week.

It’s probably just something outside. It sorta sounds like an animal noise. Kinda… _snuffly._

Only, hey, wait a minute, that doesn’t sound like it’s coming out his window. It sounds really close by. Almost like…

Shouyou glances toward the dark lump of futon and blanket on his floor. No. No way. It couldn’t be…

The sound again, louder, with a phlegmy rasp this time. The pile of blanket quivers.

Shouyou sits straight up. Oh _crap_. That’s Kageyama.

Why is Kageyama making a sound like that? Is he snoring? Or like… suffocating? It really doesn’t sound like a _good_ sound, somehow. It’s too _quiet_.

“Kageyama?” He squints—it’s too dark, he can’t make out anything but vague shapes. Kageyama seems to have been eaten alive by the contents of Shouyou’s mother’s linen closet. Maybe that’s why he’s making weird noises. “Are you okay?”

No answer. The blanket contracts slightly, like a hermit crab pulling inside its shell.

Shouyou pokes the lump with his toe. “Hey, Kageyama.”

“ _Shddup,”_ the blanket mumbles.

It sounds garbled. Kind of pinched. Something about that voice makes Shouyou’s heart feel funny, like missing an easy receive, or like when Natsu comes home all upset from school.

Wait a second—

“Kageyama,” he says, astounded, “are you _crying_?”

The blanket twists into a neat ball. It makes a noise like ‘nhmph’ and some soft rustly swishes. Shouyou’s eyes are finally adjusting to the pitch black—he can just make out the fluffy clump of Kageyama’s hair peeking out from under the covers.

He slides out of bed, onto his hands and knees. “K-Kageyama?” he says, and it comes out a little higher than he wanted, a little more afraid. He can’t help it. This is probably—no, _definitely_ the weirdest thing that’s ever happened to him. Kageyama doesn’t _cry_. This has to be some kind of misunderstanding.

But now that he’s closer, he can hear it more clearly. Hitches and tiny gasps, like there’s a little motor spluttering away in Kageyama’s lungs. It might, actually, be the saddest thing that Shouyou’s ever heard. If there’s anything worse than listening to someone cry, it’s listening to someone try _not_ to cry.

He pokes him in the back. “Kageyama—”

“ _No_ ,” Kageyama growls. Shouyou’s not sure what he’s denying, but it’s the same voice he uses when he panics—so much stronger and louder and angrier than he really is, all _oomph_ with no force behind it.

Shouyou climbs over him. Comes over to where he’s all curled up, face buried under the covers. He bends down, putting his mouth as close to Kageyama’s ear as he dares.

“Kageyama,” he says, and this time it’s his coaxing voice, the one he uses when he has to wake Natsu up or when he wants her to tell him what’s wrong. Somehow, this feels like the same situation, even if Kageyama is a billion times bigger and scarier than his little sister.

“Go ‘way,” Kageyama snaps. It’s that same congested, half-hearted command-type voice. Some king, huh.

“No,” Shouyou says. There’s no question. He’s not letting Kageyama cry all alone on his bedroom floor, geez. “Not until you stop crying.”

“S-suddup.”

Great comeback.

With nothing else to do, Shouyou reaches up to his bedside table. He’s trying to get a tissue— _a_ tissue, singular—but he can barely reach from this position and before he knows it he’s knocked the box off the shelf and onto Kageyama’s head.

“Ghrf?” Kageyama says.

“Sorry.” Shouyou snatches a tissue and tosses the box somewhere over his shoulder. “Here. Take this.”

He pushes the tissue under the blanket, vaguely where he expects Kageyama’s face to be. Kageyama makes a kind of surprised hissing sound, but seems to realize what’s going on pretty quickly. He fumbles around Shouyou’s hand, prying the tissue out of his fist with a clumsiness he never shows on the court.

Shouyou waits. There’s rustles, sniffs, a _really_ disgusting snort—some definite wiping is going on here—and after a minute, Kageyama’s arm appears. It pushes the gross, snotty tissue into Shouyou’s hand and retreats. Man, way to show some gratitude, jerkface.

Shouyou throws the tissue over his shoulder to join the box in the dark beyond. His room’s a mess anyway—a couple more tissues won’t hurt.

“That better?” he asks.

“…yeah.” Kageyama’s voice is quiet. “So. Go away.”

…he really is stupid, isn’t he.

Shouyou leans onto his elbow, letting himself settle into the futon next to Kageyama. Looks like he’s gonna be here a while, so he might as well get comfortable.

That’s easier said than done, though. The futon is squishy and Kageyama is so pleasantly warm Shouyou can feel him from here, but this situation is too frustrating. They’re so close together—closer now than they’ve ever gotten when they weren’t kicking the crap out of each other—but the only part of Kageyama he can see is that little tuft of hair sticking out from the blankets. How is he supposed to comfort him if he can’t even see him?

…how do you comfort someone like Kageyama anyway?

Ugh. Shouyou is too tired for these questions. He glares at that little piece of hair. It looks soft. Positively touchable. He swipes his knuckles against it out of spite.

Kageyama goes very still. Huh.

Shouyou pushes his fingers into Kageyama’s hair until can feel his scalp underneath. He rests his palm there, moving in little stroking circles. Kageyama’s hair really _is_ soft. It’s like petting a cat.

“D-don’t—!”

The voice is half-hissed, hidden; stops mid-word. If he didn’t know better, Shouyou might even say there was a bit of fear under that irritation.

Shouyou pauses. “Why?”

No answer. He sighs.

“Stop being difficult,” he mutters, resuming his petting. “I can tell you’re enjoying this, you know. Your shoulders aren’t shaking so much anymore.”

Kageyama must really be upset if he doesn’t have a retort for that either.

“What’s up, anyway?” Shouyou scratches at the back of Kageyama’s neck where his fluffy hair disappears into the hollow at the base of his skull. “Do you… wanna talk about it?” He knows before the words leave his lips that asking is completely pointless.

Sure enough, Kageyama just grunts.

“Fine then, don’t tell me. See if I care.” Shouyou slumps down until he’s nose-to-nose with Kageyama’s blanketed face. From close up, those covers seem even more belligerent—the barrier keeping him from comforting his friend.

You know what, screw this.

With one strong tug, Shouyou rips the blanket off Kageyama’s head. Kageyama recoils like a pill bug, scrambling to hide his face and kick Shouyou away at the same time. But if there’s one talent possessed by Hinata Shouyou, future ace champion and current starting member of the best volleyball team in Japan, it’s tenacity. He holds on to the blanket even after taking two kicks to the gut and throws it over them both.

Kageyama freezes as the covers fall. It’s so dark underneath, it smells like sweat and closet and Shouyou really can’t see anything at all, but he can just picture the shocked gape of Kageyama’s mouth, the wide perfect _O_ of his lips.

He scoots closer. His feet brush the edge of something warm and fleecy—Kageyama’s sweatpants. “There,” he says, and he’s whispering, now, like this is some big secret. “No more hiding, okay?”

He can _feel_ Kageyama’s breath against his cheek. It’s, well, sorta like sleeping next to a dog. Except Kageyama is so much bigger than a dog, and he smells like musty blanket and toothpaste and teenager, and maybe it’s not really like sleeping next to a dog at all but there’s no other experience Shouyou can compare it to.

He stretches out his arm, patting blindly for something to hold—damp t-shirt, hot sweaty skin, muscle and bone. He squeezes what’s probably Kageyama’s shoulder. It trembles under his hand.

“Hey,” he murmurs. “It’s okay.”

“I h- _hate_ you,” Kageyama spits. Shouyou rolls his eyes.

“You don’t have to be embarrassed,” he says, even though he knows he absolutely would be in Kageyama’s place. “Everyone cries sometimes, right?”

There’s a break between Kageyama’s hitching breaths.

“Everyone cries,” Shouyou repeats. “ _Everyone_. Even—even Sugawara-san, I bet. Or Noya-san. Or stupid Tsukishima. I—I cry, sometimes.”

“I know _that_.” Kageyama makes a little huffing noise. “You’re a crybaby.”

“I am not!”

“You are.”

Kageyama is not to be argued with. Even when he sounds like wet Kleenex.

“…fine,” Shouyou grumbles. “But at least I’m not such a big baby I can’t admit when I’m upset.”

He doesn’t mean anything by it, not really—it’s just the kind of thing he always ends up saying when Kageyama pushes his buttons. But he _feels_ it—Kageyama’s shoulders tense under his hand, ready to withdraw, retreat, run.

“Hey.” Shouyou scooches as close as he dares. Warmth bursts around him and he realizes he has, almost, pressed his forehead to Kageyama’s, so close there’s the skim of Kageyama’s hair on his face. The thought knocks the words out of his chest.

“Wh-what are you doing?” Kageyama’s voice tickles his neck. “G-go away!”

Weirdly, the fearful pitch of his voice fills Shouyou with confidence. It’s like proof that, for once, they’re sharing the same space, the same anxiety, the same awkwardness. If anything, Kageyama’s the one at a loss, and Shouyou’s the one in control.

“Shut up,” he murmurs, and throws his arm over Kageyama’s back. He doesn’t give himself time to think before closing the distance between them.

Kageyama’s breath catches, and this time, Shouyou feels the inhale through the thin layer of shirt and skin and ribcage between them. His ear is pressed right above the hammering of Kageyama’s heart, his chin resting on Kageyama’s jutting collarbone. Every part of Kageyama is boney and sharp, trembling or rumbling or rattling. It’s like snuggling a clock.

“Relax,” he mutters around a mouthful of shirt. “I don’t care if you’re embarrassed. I’m not going anywhere.”

Rustling. A point of pressure digs into Shouyou’s scalp. Did… did Kageyama just put his chin in Shouyou’s hair?

“There you go.” Shouyou rubs his foot against Kageyama’s leg in what he hopes is an encouraging way. “I’m here, so just—”

The words are lost—air is lost—Shouyou squeaks with no sound because there’s suddenly two iron-heavy arms barred around his torso and crushing the absolute life out of him.

Is this murder? Is Kageyama so pissed off he’s actually trying to strangle him? Is he going to _die_?

No—no, the hands are around his waist, not his neck, and even Kageyama ought to know that’s not a very efficient way to strangle somebody. And anyway his face is still buried in Shouyou’s hair, sniffling.

So. Kageyama is… hugging him.

Huh.

He tries to wriggle free—just an inch, that’s all he needs, just enough to _breathe_ —but Kageyama squeezes. Shouyou’s face smooshes into Kageyama’s chest and now he can barely open his mouth and _oh crap he’s seriously gonna die like this—_

With the last of his strength he frantically pats Kageyama’s back. _Please calm down_ , he thinks, _please notice that I’m **dying** , please—!_

Kageyama makes a noise. This little ‘mm’ sound that’s so small and so alarmingly _cute_ that Shouyou freezes mid-pat.

Kageyama’s breaths are so heavy. They rumble up his lungs and wheeze out his mouth. His whole body shudders around them like there’s something painful inside, fighting to come out.

Shouyou moves his hand higher, skating the tips of Kageyama’s hair. He pets the soft strands the way he did before, the way that Kageyama seemed to like. Slowly, by degrees, Kageyama’s grip eases.

Shouyou tucks himself more comfortably into his side.

He doesn’t know how long they stay like this. Time stops mattering, somewhere between here and there. And maybe he should get bored, or be annoyed at how the angle of his shoulder is cutting off the circulation in his hand, or even just fall sound asleep in Kageyama’s arms. But he doesn’t do any of those things. He breathes slowly and deeply like he can lead Kageyama’s lungs by example. And slowly, slowly, the tension starts to unfurl.

Shouyou imagines that he’s at training camp. That the hushed sounds are his teammates sleeping all around, that today and tomorrow and every day after will be filled with practice and spiking and laughter and light. That he and Kageyama share a special space beneath the blankets, secret and out of sight, a smaller partnership within a larger whole.

“…thanks.”

The word is barely a whisper, just enough to push Shouyou out of his doze. “Wha…?”

Kageyama stiffens. “N-nothing. Go back to sleep.”

“No, you said something.” Shouyou looks up, squinting for a glimpse of Kageyama’s face even though he knows it’s pointless in the dark. “Did you just… thank me?”

“No.”

“You did!” He can’t keep the excitement out of his voice. “You _thanked me_.”

“Shut up. Idiot.”

Shouyou bites the inside of his cheek to keep from giggling. “I knew you could be nice sometimes,” he says, settling himself back down.

There’s a lingering, syrupy-sweet silence, long enough that Shouyou’s eyes start to droop again. But this time, he’s awake enough to recognize the catch in Kageyama’s breath before he speaks.

“Hinata… d-do you…?”

“Kageyama?” Shouyou asks, when it’s clear he won’t say anything more. “What is it?”

“Nothing. Forget it.”

Shouyou jabs a finger in the ticklish part of his side. “Spill it, jerk!”

“Fine!” Kageyama snatches his hand, squeezing the fingers just a little too hard. Shouyou doesn’t try to struggle out of it, though. He waits. Patience isn’t normally one of his virtues, but even he can tell when someone’s about to say something serious.

Kageyama rubs his thumb across Shouyou’s knuckles as he thinks. It feels… good.

“Do you…” he falters. “Do you really think that I’m… n-nice?”

Shouyou kicks down his first impulse—to joke, to deny it, to poke Kageyama in the side again. There’s something that feels very _different_ about this, about Kageyama’s voice and clammy hands and this dark quiet space under the covers. You could almost call it _delicate_. So he thinks, carefully, before he lets the words come out.

“Sometimes,” he says. “I mean, most of the time you’re pretty rude. But sometimes you can be nice.”

“…oh,” Kageyama mumbles. It’s a very quiet mumble.

“And I don’t mind, really,” Shouyou adds. “That you’re rude. It’s just… who you are, I guess. And I like who you are. Um.”

He chews his lip. He feels like he’s said too much—said something embarrassing, although it’s not like he’s said anything that he wouldn’t say to any of his other friends. But this is _Kageyama_. Usually he doesn’t have the time to say anything nice before Kageyama hits him or calls him obnoxious.

“…I had a dream.”

The words startle Shouyou out of his thoughts. “Huh?”

“A dream,” Kageyama mutters, and even though Shouyou can’t see his face, he can picture his expression—grudging and grumpy and growing pink at the corners. “A… bad dream. That’s why. I was. Uh.”

“Oh.” Shouyou nods, although the position he’s in makes it more like a weird nuzzle of Kageyama’s neck. “Okay.”

He’s not sure if he should ask for details, or if it would be better to just let things lie. “You know… if you, um. If you wanna tell me about it—”

“No!”

“Okay.” Shouyou scrunches his eyes shut. He wishes he could go back to sleep, but he feels wide awake now. Stupid Kageyama.

What could he possibly have to be afraid of? The vending machine running out of his favorite milk, maybe. Something stupid like that. Because he’s so stupid. Yeah.

“Um—!”

The word is too loud. As if in surprise at his own voice, Kageyama starts to squash Shouyou’s shoulders again. Shouyou tries to speak, but all that comes out is sort of a “Mrrf?”

“Er, well,” Kageyama splutters. “You—you can’t tell anyone this, okay?”

Shouyou nods furiously. He’s not going to say anything, not when he’s almost always within strangling distance of Kageyama’s long limbs. And anyway right now he couldn’t tell anybody anything without it coming out as gibberish.

“S-s-so…” Kageyama sounds lost. “Uh. S-so, it…”

Shouyou wiggles the fingers of his still-trapped hand, weaving them through Kageyama’s until their palms are clasped tight. It’s just supposed to be comforting, a little encouragement, but it seems to have the opposite effect. Kageyama crumples. His shoulders hunch and there’s this funny-warm-pressing feeling on the top of Shouyou’s head that makes him think Kageyama is hiding his face in his hair.

“…it was you.”

Shouyou sucks in a breath. The words are so faint he can barely hear them. “H-huh?”

“The… the dream. S’always the same dream.” It almost sounds like Kageyama’s trying to smother himself with Shouyou’s hair. “B-but this time… it was you. You called for a toss and… and then… you weren’t…”

Oh. _Oh._

“It wasn’t real,” Shouyou says, because he’s terribly, deeply afraid that Kageyama is going to start crying again.

“I _know_ that. Dumbass.”

“No, I mean—” Shouyou lets go of Kageyama’s hand so he can pull him closer, squeeze him back as tightly as he can with his short small stupid arms. “It’s not _going_ to be real. I told you, I’m not going anywhere.”

“Mmph.”

Kageyama’s not even agreeing, just _humming_ , and that’s completely wrong. Kageyama doesn’t get to be uncertain. It’s just _weird_.

“ _Listen_.” Shouyou scoots up until he can hook his chin around Kageyama’s shoulder, pushing his face right up against Kageyama’s ear because this is too important to get misheard. “You’re never alone on that court. _Never_. It doesn’t even matter if I’m not there, no one on the team would ever do that to you! And if _anyone_ tried it, I’d—I’d beat them up!”

Kageyama snorts. It’s even more disgusting up close. Shouyou smacks his arm.

“I’m serious! I really would! Because… because we’re a _team_.”

That’s not really what he means. He doesn’t know what he means—the words feel all locked up and twisted inside. He pets Kageyama’s hair, tangles his fingers in like he’s trying to anchor himself.

“You’re not in middle school anymore, okay?” he mutters. “You’re different, and we’re different, and… I don’t care if you’re mean sometimes, or if you cry sometimes, or if you yell a lot. You’re amazing. And I like you.”

…okay, Kageyama’s definitely crying again.

Shouyou stays as still as he can while Kageyama uses his head as a tissue, probably snotting all over him while letting out these little choking sounds that make Shouyou feel incredibly useless. He was just trying to say something _nice_. Why is Kageyama getting upset again?

He pats Kageyama’s back. He seems to be calming down, even if he’s still blubbering a bit.

“I h-hate this,” Kageyama grumbles.

“Sorry.”

Kageyama stops mid-snuffle. “…what’re you apologizing for?”

“I don’t know. That’s just what you’re supposed to say when people are sad, right?”

“…that’s stupid.”

Shouyou scowls into Kageyama’s neck. “You’re stupid.”

The argument dissolves away into silence. Somewhere, outside of the cozy, cramped nest they share, time must be passing. Dawn might be breaking; people might be rising. Shouyou doesn’t know and he doesn’t really care, either. It’s still inky-black night under the blanket, and that’s all that matters.

Shouyou strokes Kageyama’s hair again. It’s funny how quickly it soothes him, loosening his limbs and easing his breath almost instantly, like a magic spell. Shouyou needs to remember this the next time he and Kageyama get into an argument. This trick might make him the winner of a hundred pointless fights.

…more than that, though, he just really likes the feeling of Kageyama snoozing softly at his side.

“Hey.” He pokes Kageyama’s shin with his toe. “You asleep?”

A yawn. “Mm. No.”

“…m’kay.” Shouyou lays his head back down. “Uh, Kageyama?”

“Hm?”

Suddenly, there’s an icy spike of fear in Shouyou’s throat. He swallows it down long enough to ask.

“Can I… sleep here?”

There’s a long, horrible second where Shouyou is certain that Kageyama is going to kick him out, out, out of their warm nest and into the bitter empty bedroom beyond. He doesn’t want to go back to his cold bed and sleep all alone and un-cuddled in his own sheets. He doesn’t want to let go of this place, of this feeling, of the sweet sleep he can tell is waiting just in reach of Kageyama’s arms. Maybe it’s stupid. It probably is. But it feels like the whole world rests on this moment, like the match point of the final set of the biggest game of his life, and if he doesn’t get what he wants he might cry.

Kageyama doesn’t answer. Just wraps him up tight in his arms and holds him close.

“Shut up,” he mutters, and for once, Shouyou is glad to be quiet.

He closes his eyes. In the formless space behind his eyelids, Kageyama’s breaths wash over him like waves. Unfamiliar for now, impatient and a bit too loud, but it’s a rhythm that carries him safely, tethers him tightly as an anchor. One day, Shouyou will learn the sound by heart, will echo it back like a bowstring plucked in an orchestra, will sing it strong and add to it a song of his own. But for now, he’s content to slip into the space between the beats, and sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave me comments they are literally what keep me writing.
> 
> And if you feel like leaving some encouraging thoughts or just keeping me company while I struggle with the nightmare that is putting words into coherent sentences for a living, you can always message me at my tumblr[ here.](http://jellyfishline.tumblr.com/)


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